Читать книгу The Cosy Christmas Chocolate Shop - Caroline Roberts - Страница 14

There was a knock at the back door of the cottage and Emma went to answer it and seeing who it was or, more exactly, who it was and what she was wearing, burst out laughing.

‘I’m all set,’ Bev grinned, making her way into Em’s back kitchen.

‘I can’t believe you’ve actually walked around here like that.’

Bev lived a ten-minute walk away across the far side of the village.

‘Yep, well, why not? I drew the line at coming across in my slippers, mind – they’re in the bag, along with a bottle of Prosecco and some cheesy nibbles.’ She offered up her carrier bag to Emma.

‘You look like some crazy bag lady.’

‘Well, thanks.’

Bev stood before her in a full-on zebra-print onesie.

‘Right, well I suppose I’d better go and get mine on, then. Don’t want to be outdone. There’s two glasses ready there on the side so you get the Prosecco popped and poured. I’ll just be one minute.’

‘Can I still raid the chocolate shop like you promised?’

‘Yes,’ Emma shouted from halfway up the stairs. ‘But wait until I get back.’

‘Meanie.’

Em found her giraffe-print onesie on the chair in her bedroom, where she’d left it last night, and stripped off her jeans and jumper combo and pulled it on. She felt cosy straight away. Right, slippers on. So, she was ready for their ‘big night in’.

She arrived back down in the kitchen.

‘Can I fill my goodie bag now?’ Bev’s eyes lit up.

‘Yes, go on then.’ Emma led the way through the door from the back hallway to the shop, and switched on the lights.

‘Yippee!’ came a squeal from behind her.

‘Bev, anyone would think you were four, not forty-odd.’ But Emma was smiling as she spoke.

‘I know, I know. I still can’t quite get over the fact that my best friend actually has a chocolate shop. How did I get that lucky in life?!’

This evening, with it being especially dark outside, Em had to admit it did look rather like a chocolate version of Aladdin’s cave, with neatly piled truffle and ganache gems, gold and silver foil boxes, trails of ribbons and coloured packaging.

‘Here.’ Emma passed her friend a cellophane bag. ‘Go on, fill it. But, if you wouldn’t mind, take a few of those Christmas pud truffles and snowy stars that are left on the counter; that’ll help my stock situation. They’ve got to be eaten in the next week or so before they go out of date.’

‘No worries. I’ll gladly take them off your hands. What do you fancy, Em?’

To be honest, Emma had seen and handled so much chocolate in the past few weeks, she wasn’t sure. But she was always partial to a soft-centred caramel.

‘Just a couple of the chocolate salted caramels – those ones over there. That’ll do me.’

They were soon settled upstairs with a glass of Prosecco in hand, the chocolate goodie bag nestled between them, and their slippered feet propped up on the coffee table.

They’d laughed their way through Bridget Jones’s Baby and cried their way through The Notebook – a classic romantic film and novel that Emma always loved. And, hey-ho, despite the tears, a couple of hours spent with Ryan Gosling was never a bad thing.

‘Blimey, that ending just makes me want to go home and snuggle right up with Pete. But, wouldn’t it be awful for someone to just disappear from your life so suddenly?’ Bev stopped talking and looked across at Emma. ‘Oh balls! Sorry, Em. Films like this must be pretty hard for you, yeah? Like, I know it’s a long time ago and all that, but …’

‘It’s all right.’ Emma smiled sadly, unable to really voice what she felt inside.

‘You must miss that, though, that closeness. Don’t you ever want to go out and find someone? Go on a date? You haven’t been out like that in ages. And well, to put it bluntly, have a good shag.’ The Prosecco had certainly loosened Bev’s tongue. They’d had nearly a bottle each by now. ‘Or maybe you have been, and you’re keeping it all quiet.’ Bev arched her eyebrows.

Emma thought of the hunky man on the beach, but said nothing. That was better kept to herself. Chances were she’d never see him again, and maybe that was for the best. It was probably all illusory. No one had ever come near …

‘Hah, it’s Alan in the village, isn’t it?’

Em put her head in her hands. Then they both howled with laughter, until the tears were streaming again. Alan, bless him, had to be over seventy, with teeth stained brown from years of smoking roll-ups, and a tendency to be a bit of a letch, to say the least. He was no doubt lonely, having lost his wife several years before. But he would always stand just a bit too close in the post office queue, touching your shoulder as he asked how you were, and letting his hand linger just a bit too long, and Em was sure that one time he’d actually patted her arse. But it was so surreptitious, and when she looked round he was already two steps away at the newspaper stand, his head deep in the Northumberland Gazette.

Emma let out a sigh. Would she end up like that? Lonely, desperate for a fondle, watching Ryan Gosling films or The Time Traveller’s Wife on repeat?

‘Pete’s got a mate coming up the weekend after next. Why don’t you come out with us?’

‘What? A blind date? No way! I remember the last time you tried to fix me up with someone. All he could talk about was bloody computer programming and his gym weights. Didn’t mean a thing to me. I couldn’t have given a monkey’s whether he could lift a bloody ten-kilo weight or a car.’

‘Yes, well, he wasn’t the most interesting of Pete’s friends, I must say. But I’ve met Nigel before and he’s nice.’

‘Nigel? Are there still people called Nigel around? You’ve got to be kidding.’

‘Just get yourself out socialising again.’

‘I was out. At New Year.’

‘And before that?’

Emma couldn’t quite remember. ‘Look, I don’t need you meddling, trying to fix me up with someone.’ She could feel herself getting edgy. ‘I’m fine. I like being on my own. Why do we all have to be in loved-up couples? It’s just a myth.’

‘There’s nothing wrong in trying to be happy. Finding someone to love.’

‘I had it. I had all that, okay.’ Emma’s tone was taut.

‘Well, don’t you want it again?’

‘No, I’m fine. It won’t be the same. It couldn’t be.’

‘So, you’re never going to go out with anyone ever again? That’s just crazy.’

‘No, it’s not.’

‘It’s like saying you don’t want to ever eat chocolate again.’ Bev dug into the goody bag, pulled out a truffle and popped it in her mouth all in one go. There was a pause, as she ate it, then she carried on. ‘One day, it’ll sneak up on you and you’ll eat a whole bar.’ Trust Bev to think of a chocolate analogy. ‘And you might just like it!’

‘No.’

‘What’s that for an answer? Come on, Em. What is it, are you afraid or what?’

‘Okay, all right!’ Her voice was raised now, and she felt her neck flushing with heat. ‘Yes, I am bloody afraid … afraid no one will ever match up. How can they? And if, in some fantasy universe, they ever did? What the fuck then! What if something happened to them? I don’t want to go back to that place, Bev. I don’t want to ever go near those feelings again! So yes, I am bloody afraid … You happy now?’

‘No. Oh, Em …’ She placed her arm around her friend. ‘Hey, I’m sorry, hun. So sorry. I didn’t realise it was still so raw for you. I know you’ve told me about Luke, what happened. But seven years, Em. It’s seven years.’

‘I know.’

‘But hey, jeez, I didn’t know you then. I never saw how much it must have hurt at the time, did I? I see you now, strong and independent and beautiful.’ She stroked her friend’s red wavy hair. ‘And it just seems such a waste. But forgive me, I’m just a silly bloody woman who’s had too much Prosecco and hasn’t got a clue how hard it must be. How do I know how that might feel seven years on?’

‘Yes, you are a silly bloody woman.’ The edge of Emma’s lip started to sneak up into the trace of a smile. ‘A silly bloody woman in a zebra-print onesie.’

And they slung their arms round each other in a hug.

Two days later, Emma picked up the phone and dialled.

‘Okay, so I’ll go.’

‘Is that you, Em? Um, what are you talking about? Go where?’

‘On that date thing that’s not a date, that cinema trip or whatever you’re planning with Pete’s mate in a couple of weeks’ time. What did you say his name was?’

‘You will? That’s great! Well, that’s a bit of a turnaround … well done you! And he’s called Nigel.’

‘Ni-gel, how could I have forgotten? Can I back out already?’

‘Hah, don’t judge by a name. He looks more like a Brent.’

‘And what does a Brent look like?’

‘Blond, American?’ Bev suggested.

‘Well, I’m conjuring up Brent from that TV programme, The Office. And it’s not doing anything for me.’

‘Hah, he’s fine; not bad-looking, in fact. Easy to chat with.’

‘Okay, that’ll do. I’ve said I’ll go, so I’ll go. But don’t expect too much from me. Just friends, on a normal night out. Okay?’

‘O-kay. It’ll be fun.’

Emma wasn’t quite so sure. But even she could see it was about time she got herself out and about a bit more. She couldn’t hide behind the chocolate forever.